


The Valley of Blades

by nyghtertale



Category: Witchblade (TV)
Genre: Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyghtertale/pseuds/nyghtertale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara's vanished and Nottingham seems to believe Gabriel is the way to find her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Valley of Blades

Gabriel woke to find a twelfth century scimitar (previously used by Saladin in recapturing Jerusalem) at his throat, instead of in the display stand at the bottom right of the door where he'd left it last night. His eyes traced backwards from the gleaming metal blade to the black-gloved hand with its silver ring wrapped around the intricately carved hilt, up the black-clad arm, to the expressionless face of Ian Nottingham.

"Where is she?" The words were spoken quietly, softly, but forcefully.

"Um," Gabriel stuttered. There was, of course, only one she that people ever broke into his home looking for, and he was making a habit of not cooperating with them. Throat dry, he swallowed, feeling the blade rise and fall with the movement. "You looking for my girlfriend? 'Cause she normally stays with her roommates. I've tried telling her it's okay to stay the night here, but she worries her parents are going to call to check up on her and-"

Nottingham twisted his wrist, edging the blade higher, and forcing Gabriel's chin up.

"Ok, shutting up now," Gabriel said. He managed quiet for one heartbeat, two, and then blurted out, "Listen, I don't know anything. What do you want with her, anyway?"

"She destroyed my father. I told her what he meant to me, and yet she still…" Nottingham let the statement trail off. "Dark forces are gathering. They have broken free of their bindings. She must be willing to pay the price."

"Right. Dark forces. Price. If I see her, I'll give her the message. Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to get some sleep here." Gabriel waved his hand to point towards the door. As soon as Nottingham was gone, Gabriel was triple-bolting the door and piping the feed from the security camera to his bedside.

Nottingham caught his hand, forced it palm-side down on the coverlet. His fingers caressed the raised circles, which was creepy, but creepier still was the wistful look stealing across his face. The sword slid down to rest against his wrist, and Gabriel took the opportunity to punch Nottingham. It wasn't a great punch, partially because he was using his off hand, partially because lying on your back wasn't the best position for throwing a punch, and mostly because Gabriel was scrappy, not brawny. It did snap Nottingham's attention back to him, though, and away from his newly marked hand. The scimitar was back at his throat, which was not great, but Gabriel figured that if Nottingham had wanted him dead, he'd have never woken up. Was fairly certain of it. Moderately.

…and everything went black.

When Gabriel woke up a second time, he could hear conversation out in the shop area, the voices too low to make out any actual words. He stumbled out of bed, splashed some water on his face, gingerly patted the new bruise on his temple with the softest towel he possessed, and cautiously poked his head around the curtain.

Ian Nottingham was trailing behind a woman, apparently explaining the shop's merchandise and artifacts to her.

Gabriel splashed some more water on his face, but reality didn't return. After a moment of staring at himself in the mirror, he ventured out. The woman was examining a set of antique Roman brooches and Nottingham was talking about how enameled fish were a popular decoration of the period. Gabriel cleared his throat, and the woman started like she'd touched a live wire. Nottingham didn't even turn his head.

"It looks like Mr. Bowman is available now," Nottingham said.

"You're my 9:00 appointment?" Gabriel asked, holding out his hand. "Sorry, I was…" he jerked his head back towards the living area.

"You'll have to forgive my partner," Nottingham said, a smile on the edges of his lips, but his eyes were still expressionless. "I kept him up rather late last night." There was a hint of amusement in his tone that convinced Gabriel he was well aware of the implication in his words. Gabriel assumed he was doing that to annoy him, but Nottingham wasn't giving him a sly look, wasn't, in fact, looking at him at all.

"Oh," the woman said, glancing between the two of them. "Oh, that's alright, really. I was looking for an anniversary present for my husband; he's a big history buff."

"I have some great ideas." Gabriel ushered her away from Nottingham, "Why don't you take a look at these?"

Nottingham made no move to leave. He stood studying the display case, the one that held Saladin's twelfth century scimitar, hands clasped behind his back. Gabriel decided to call his bluff. Nottingham wouldn't kill him in front of a witness, right? "Would you mind picking up some breakfast, Ian darling?" he asked, and, wonder of wonders, Nottingham didn't punch him, or glare at him, but simply walked gracefully out.

After Nottingham left, he wrapped up the client quickly, and locked the door. Sara didn't answer her cell the first time he called, or the fifth. He put a call into the police station, anonymous to the main desk rather than her partner, but they didn't know where she was either. He hung up before the sergeant could transfer him to Woo. On his third circuit pacing around the room, Gabriel noticed an eye staring at him through the window. Nottingham was perched on the catwalk outside, legs drawn up, and woolen hat pulled down to cover his ears.

After that, Gabriel glanced at the window every time he walked by. There was a stretch of about 3 hours when Nottingham was gone, but he was there the rest of the day. Around seven o'clock, when the shadows were growing longer than the buildings, Gabriel poked his head in and said, "I'm starting dinner. Should I make enough for two?"

Nottingham stood, abrupt enough to rock Gabriel back on his heels, and was gone. “My cooking’s not that bad,” Gabriel shouted after him. He stared at the now empty catwalk and shook his head. He had research to do, if he were to find Sara.

#

He stood on hard earth, the ground pounded flat by the trod of hundreds of feet, could feel the reverberations of their marching. A chasm waited before him, the edges jagged and sharp. It split the earth like a lightening bolt (for a moment he thought he saw a snake stretched across a wasteland, the head rose to gaze into him, red eyes glowing, but that was just the setting sun flaring).

At the bottom, at the narrowest point, before it spilled open onto the plain, stood a single figure in armor and white cloak. The cloak streamed behind her, though Gabriel could feel no wind. Through the canyon wound the army, only a few abreast, but without visible end.

“This is her destiny.”

Gabriel turned his head and dimly registered unsurpise at finding Ian Nottingham standing one pace behind and to the side (for a moment he thought he saw a young boy in an overlarge cowboy hat, heard a voice tell the boy, “You have a destiny.”). He dragged his gaze back to Sara. Armor covered her head to foot, the style of it seeming to change every time he blinked. She had no weapon and stood facing the plain, not the encroaching horde. Gabriel opened his mouth to cry warning to Sara, heard Irons voice fall from his lips. “Go to her,” it commanded.

Nottingham went. Jumped from the top of canyon, black coat billowing. Gabriel stepped forward, to the very edge of the chasm, to see Nottingham land in the center of a knot of the enemy. The impact had driven him to his knees, and when Nottingham rose, he had a blade in either hand. Gabriel never saw him connect with any of them, but Nottingham was moving through the crowd like they weren’t even there, was rapidly approaching the front, and then there was nothing between him and Sara. Nottingham had his blades out, he was circling Sara, who still hadn’t drawn a weapon. Gabriel could see Sara’s lips moving, but couldn’t hear, and then his view was blocked as Nottingham stepped in close. A surge of emotions flickered through him (anger, hope, betrayal) and subsided as Nottingham stepped back, Sara standing unharmed.

The first wave reached her, and the witchblade was in her hand. Her movements were a dance; a particularly athletic one, Gabriel noted as she kicked one in the chest to force him back. Nottingham had retreated to a boulder and sat, watching. He didn’t twitch, not even when Sara took an axe blow that staggered her backwards and fell, almost at his feet.

Gabriel pivoted on his heel, began searching for rocks or anything he could throw to try and aid Sara. It was hard to see, a white fog was rising from the ground, covering everything. Tendrils snaked upwards, as if trying to engulf him (for a moment he thought he felt a pair of arms clasping him, a hand pressed over his mouth to silence him).

White fog swirled around him, and Gabriel found himself at the bottom of the chasm, a circle of the enemy around him. They stunk of rotting and decaying meat, and looked little better, with putrid sores and jaundiced skin. He didn’t know how he’d managed to penetrate this far unharmed, but now the closest ones were turning, blood-red mouths gaping with needle-point teeth. “Sara!” he yelled, turning about wildly, trying to keep them at bay (for a moment he thought he was weaponless, but there was the solid weight of a cane in his hands, with a gold lion handle that he _knew_ could break bones if swung with force).

They were on him now, reaching for his limbs and pulling. Muscles stretched to their limits, then past, aching, burning pain, and Gabriel jerked awake, sweat plastering his sheets to his body.

#

The next day, an envelope arrived with the Vorschlag Industries logo printed on it. After running it through every test he could think of, Gabriel opened it. Mr. Nottingham wanted him to appraise an artifact in Mr. Irons’ personal collection that was to be loaned to a museum. A car would pick him up at one.

Gabriel spent a few seconds debating whether he should be somewhere else at one, but his curiosity was far too strong. If Nottingham knew something about Sara’s disappearance, and he must, to have realized she was gone before anyone else, this would be the perfect opportunity to find out. In the meantime, he did some research on the Miroir aux Fees. Gabriel might be casual, but let it never be said he was unprofessional.

Once again, Gabriel found himself walking into one of Irons’ private residences. It was just as ostentatious as he remembered. This time, he was more confident he'd be walking out. Someone (Gabriel hesitated to assign the label of butler) directed him to where Nottingham waited, in a different room than last time. He was sitting (mahogany chair, high medieval, Gabriel noted absently, worth a fortune if authentic) and gestured for him to take a matching one. On the table between them, lay the crystal orb.

“I take it you intend to continue Mr. Irons’ habit of sponsoring museum exhibits,” Gabriel ventured, when Nottingham didn’t speak.

“Some things are meant to be displayed, to be admired by the world.” His brown eyes pinned Gabriel with an uncanny focus. “While others are meant only for those who know their true value.”

For Nottingham, that was almost transparently understandable. Gabriel didn’t back down. “I’ve a good eye for unusual artifacts.”

“That’s why I requested you.”

Something in Nottingham's tone rubbed him the wrong way, like Nottingham was emphasizing his position of power. He'd had the same feeling last time when Nottingham had handed over the check, although that had quickly been replaced by fear when Nottingham had drawn the blade (it had been a scimitar, too, he recalled). He'd thought, for an instant, that Nottingham had been about to use it on him. But when Nottingham had simply admired the detailing, the irritation had seeped back. Until he'd glanced at the check. Nottingham's check had included a substantial bonus over the scimitar's substantial price, enough for him to swallow his discomfort and the way Nottingham mocked him.

He'd never found accepting money demeaning; his services, after all, were valuable. Gabriel had no problems recognizing his skills and their worth. “Okay,” Gabriel said, and proceeded to tell Nottingham all about the crystal orb, details he was sure the other man already knew. Nottingham gazed into the fire. When Gabriel was done, silence fell over the room. "Look, I get that we're pretending that what happened yesterday, didn't happen, but I'd really like to know if I should be expecting you to lurk in dark corners wherever I go."

"You don't need to."

"Is that because you won't be stalking me, or because you don't care if I'm aware of you?"

Nottingham smiled, actually smiled. "Yes."

"I disliked you less when you didn't have a sense of humor," Gabriel muttered. "Why are you interested in me?"

"I'm not."

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. "Are you just trying to keep in practice until Pez returns?"

"The marks on your hand," Nottingham said, reaching out and dragging Gabriel's hand forward. He pressed it flat against the table. Gabriel tried to tug it back, but Nottingham's grip was iron-tight. "You bear the mark of the Witchblade. It is a connection that goes deeper than the physical, that crosses space and time."

"Then you do need me."

"Not all of you."

Gabriel tugged harder to free his hand, not liking the direction of this conversation. Abruptly, Nottingham released him and reverted from creepy psycho to polished businessman. He rose in perfect mimicry of a host, and escorted Gabriel to the room’s door.

“Come back tomorrow,” Nottingham said, seemingly to the door. “I have another item I want appraised.”

“I could appraise it now,” Gabriel offered. He needed to get Nottingham talking about Sara again, to figure out what he knew.

Nottingham’s eyes flickered up to meet his, then a hand was at his back and he was being propelled out the door. It swung shut behind him with a click. “Or tomorrow’s fine,” Gabriel told the door. “He’s checking to make sure I haven’t skipped town, isn’t he?” The door proved just as good a conversationalist as Nottingham, and Gabriel left.

#

Gabriel stood at the top of the canyon, white mist swirling around his feet. Below him, an armored figure fought an army. Her movements were precise, no energy wasted, as she spun and hit and kicked. A pile of bodies littered the pass to either side of her, but still more pressed in. Behind her, Nottingham sat cross-legged, hands resting on his thighs. Blood splattered along the canyon walls as Sara hacked a head off. The body wobbled in place, took another tottering step forward, and Sara drove her blade into its chest, spearing the heart. It folded to its knees, dragging Sara’s blade with it, and she twisted to avoid being caught by another of the dead. She dealt with that one, and the next, and the next, but eventually her movements slowed. She faltered. Fell to her knees.

The enemy were all about her, a writhing mass of limbs that reminded Gabriel of the story of rat kings: rat tails entwined and stuck together with matted blood and dirt. They heaved, and then fell apart, Sara staggering to her feet, all her weight leaning on her blade. Light haloed her, reflected blindingly off her armor as though she were coated in liquid flame. Gabriel was forced to turn his head away. The bodies around her turned to ash, and she stood once more in a clear space.

It didn't last long. She had a few seconds of respite, and then the next wave was upon her.

"Is this what you intended, father?" Nottingham's voice came from behind, and Gabriel jerked around.

"How did you…?"

"I've tried to follow in your footsteps," Nottingham continued. "I haven't forgotten I promised you vengeance."

Irons' voice. "You've wasted your time on frivolous matters."

"There are valuable lessons to be learned playing basketball."

Gabriel was watching Nottingham now, whilst Sara fought alone below. "Do I need to tell you what to do?" He backed up a step, then another. "Will you be too late this time as well? Too late to save me. Too late to save her." One more step back, and he was falling. Down and down, the walls of the canyon a red blur on either side. Gabriel hit the ground, and for the second night in a row, woke in a panicked sweat.

#

 

"Don't you have any hobbies?"

Nottingham rose and went to the Victorian writing desk along the wall, slid a drawer open and removed several items. He tossed them on the table in front of Gabriel.

Gabriel didn't recognize them at first, so far were they from what he expected. Issues of Parricide covered the tabletop, in near pristine condition. Faint creases by the spine showed they'd been read, hadn't just been bought as collector's items. Their price had jumped after Sly had died (been murdered), and several people had contacted Gabriel in search of the limited copies. He hadn’t taken any of the offers.

"Why are you showing me these?" Gabriel demanded. Sara had never confirmed it, but he knew Nottingham was responsible for his friend's death. "Are you threatening me?"

"Not at the moment, but that could change."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. After a certain point, terror faded. "Yeah, yeah, you're a big, bad wolf. What's with the comics?"

"I like them."

"You like them?"

"Yes. I followed his storylines quite attentively. And the artwork was exquisite."

Gabriel stared at him. "You're insane, you know that?"

"What is insanity, but a sane response to an insane world?" Nottingham rose. "I believe our business for today is concluded, Mr. Bowman."


End file.
